


Confidence

by rellkelltn87



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Family Issues, Obnoxious Family, Post-Episode: s22e04 Sightless in a Savage Land, Vomiting, canoodling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rellkelltn87/pseuds/rellkelltn87
Summary: Carisi’s family annoys him about not coming to a big family dinner during a pandemic. Then he accidentally throws up on Barba. Stuff ensues. Yep, that’s the plot for this ridiculous post-ep, friends. Enjoy?
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 88





	Confidence

Carisi’s phone buzzed from within the inside pocket of his tan peacoat moments after he began his morning jog up the courthouse steps. Still in motion, clutching his paper-bagged coffee and buttered roll in one hand, he checked the screen, and picked up immediately when he saw that the call was from his sister Gina. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked. 

“Nothing. Calm down,” Gina said, as if an 8:30AM-on-a-weekday phone call from a sibling wasn’t something to panic about. 

“Then what’re you calling me at 8:30 on a Friday for?”

“I was up,” she answered, and he could almost hear her shrug. 

“I’m going into work. Can I call you back?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were coming to Ma’s on Sunday.”

“Who said I was coming to Ma’s on Sunday?”

“It’s cousin Louie’s 50th birthday. You have to come to Ma’s on Sunday. Don’t be selfish.”

“Gina,” he said, gritting his teeth. 

He let her yammer on about his selfishness for not attending a twenty-five-person family birthday party in the middle of a pandemic as he went through the metal detector and had his temperature checked. 

“I’m not packing into a house full of people, half of who think this is no worse than the flu ‘cause of what they read on Facebook. We had this argument already. The answer is no.”

“Don’t think you can out-argue us just ‘cause you’re a fancy lawyer now.”

“Yeah, fancy,” Carisi said, heading down two flights of stairs to his basement office that was the size of what a clever real estate agent might call a walk-in closet. 

“He’s 50, Sonny, c’mon, this is a big birthday for him. And he helped pay your way through law school.”

“His mom helped pay my way through law school.”

“Same difference.” 

“I work in the courts every day, and I’m at the 16th precinct at least twice a week, where people are passing in and out all the time. I take the subway in from Brooklyn. Wouldn’t want to bring you guys —”

“You? You’re so careful. You’re not going to bring us anything,” Gina insisted.

“Yes, but if other people aren’t careful, then —”

“You are still the worst hypochondriac,” Gina complained.

“You guys all went up to Poughkeepsie for New Year’s.”

“In a guest house! It was just us!”

“All of you, who live and work in different places, and were all eating indoors during the month we were allowed to, before they realized it was a terrible idea.”

“Grow up, Sonny,” Gina said, a phrase always on the tip of every Carisi’s tongue but carrying no real meaning. 

“I would tell you to fuck off, but I’m too grown up for that.” He opened the door to his office, set his briefcase on a file cabinet, and flopped down into his swivel chair. His eyes caught, and then fixed on, the brand-new bottle of Pepto atop his desk. 

“At least think about it,” Gina said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it,” he answered, attempting to get her off the phone. 

“Ma’s gonna call you tonight. And if you don’t want Pop to get on your case too, you’ll promise us you’re showing up on Sunday and you’re ass’ll be at the dinner table at five o’clock sharp.”

A brand-new bottle of Pepto, safety wrap still covering its cap, which was decorated with a card-store giant purple stick on gift bow. Beneath it was a note written on card stock. Carisi reached for it. 

“Sonny?” Gina prompted.

“Yeah?”

“Thought I lost you.”

“I don’t want to lose any of you, so maybe you and Ma and everybody should —”

“Cool it with the melodrama already. You better hope to god that Pop doesn’t get you on the phone tonight.”

“Yeah, okay, I love you, now leave me alone.”

“Not till you do what’s right.” 

“How about you leave me alone to do my job?” Carisi said.

“Fair,” Gina conceded. “But you’re getting calls tonight. Like three or four. Be ready. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Bye, Gina.” 

“Love you too. Bye.”

Finally, he examined the note, running his thumb across the card stock on which it was handwritten in black ink. 

_Sonny,_

_So you did learn a lot from my summations after all. Excellent job. You have real talent and passion. Keep at it._

_Rafael_

His stomach lurched. 

Barba, his mentor, his sometime crush, said he had _real talent and passion_.

How he’d wanted, the other night on the steps, to brush that extra chunk of hair away from Barba’s forehead with his fingertips. 

But the praise from his mentor, the silly gift that nevertheless demonstrated that Barba knew him well, somehow made his stomach lurch with joy and the excitement of the slim possibility of reciprocated feelings from a crush. 

From Barba. From _the_ major crush of his adult life, maybe. 

Carisi crushed far too easily, but Barba was _the_ crush out of scores of crushes. 

By the end of the workday, which thankfully today was no later than 7PM (though he expected at least two calls from SVU on his work cell over the weekend), his stomach was calmer, distracted by busy-ness. He was sure it would act up again in an hour or two, when calls from family members came in, scolding him for his refusal to attend their gathering on Sunday, furious at him for his futile requests that they not gather at all. But for now, as he sat behind his desk and finished packing his briefcase, he was calm. 

He looked up when he heard a tap on the window of his already-open door. 

He looked up from his briefcase, and he saw Barba.

Barba, in dark jeans, a blue button-down shirt, a maroon sweater, and his long coat, looking remarkably — cozy — again. 

A smile spread across Barba’s face. 

There was that _lurch_ again. This time, Carisi felt his stomach climb up into his throat, and then, as he stood — perhaps too quickly — he remembered that all he’d eaten all day was a buttered roll and coffee that morning. 

The nausea from the acid churning in his empty stomach, the day’s brief moments of crush-joy, Barba standing in the doorway beaming with what was maybe pride, and the dehydration from ingesting not even a single sip of water in almost twenty-four hours, hit him far too hard when he stood up and leaned in to shake Barba’s hand, and —

Within seconds, Carisi had vomited all over Barba’s coat, sweater, and shoes. 

“Oh god, fuck, I’m an asshole,” Carisi said, wiping his mouth first with the back of his hand, then with tissues from the box on his desk. “I swear to god I’m not sick, I just got myself dehydrated again, and — _fuck_ , I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I’m so sorry.”

Barba, still in shock, still barely inside the doorway, stood with his hands and arms held out from his sides, away from his coat, unable to hide the horrified expression on his face. “It’s okay,” Barba, with eyes bugged out of his head, tried to assure Carisi. “Can you find a garbage bag?”

“Yeah,” Carisi said. “Uh, yeah.”

“And some water for you.”

“I’m sorry, Rafael. I was just this morning lecturing my sister about pandemic safety and here I am throwing up on you.”

“Just find a garbage bag and don’t worry about it,” Barba said, gingerly stepping further into Carisi’s office. 

Carisi returned to the office with a garbage bag. “Did you drink water yet?” Barba asked.

“No,” Carisi said, helping Barba take off his coat.

“Go get yourself water, please. I’ll take care of this.”

Carisi’s face and ears burned with embarrassment. He headed to the cooler and drank a cup of water in careful, measured sips before returning to find Barba in only jeans, button-down shirt, and socks, frantically trying to get the vomit off his shoes and pants with a handful of tissues. This time, when he looked up at Carisi, there was nothing but kindness in his eyes. 

_I just projectile vomited on you_ , Carisi thought, _why the hell are you looking at me like that?_

“Hey,” Barba said, “I’ll tell you what. If you’re feeling up to it, there’s a dry cleaner on my block, so come with me to drop off my coat and sweater, and then we’ll order dinner in.”

“Yeah,” Carisi said, the surprise (thankfully) not hitting him in the digestive system this time. “Hold on.” He opened a file cabinet drawer and tossed Barba a can of Lysol, which Barba promptly sprayed into the bag. Before they left, Carisi sprayed down the entire office.

“I’m not, like, _weird_ or anything,” Carisi told Barba, and he could hear himself pronouncing “weird” with far too many syllables, “this is just what happens when I forget to eat or drink all day ‘cause there’s too much on my mind.”

“Carisi, you are very weird, and I appreciate your weirdness.”

“Except when I throw up on you.”

“Yes, that.”

“Like I said, I’ll pay for the —”

“Don’t worry about it,” Barba interrupted. “Listen, the reason I came by was to tell you that I’m — honestly — proud of you for what you’ve been doing in court. You’ve come a long way, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

“Thanks to you.”

“No,” Barba said as Carisi locked the door, “you wanted this. You fought tooth and nail.” 

Now that the jittery, nervous energy had dissipated, the _I’m proud of you_ registered exactly where it should have, in Carisi’s lawyah-school heart. He’d have cried, but the last thing a guy who just got thrown up on wants to deal with is crying, Carisi decided. 

They went to Barba’s place in a rideshare, dropped his coat and sweater off at the dry cleaner’s, and then returned together to Barba’s apartment, where they ordered dinner from a Greek place a few blocks away. While they waited, they sat together on the couch, Barba with a tumbler of whiskey, Carisi with a tall glass of water. 

Barba stood up when he remembered that his jeans were still crusted with vomit splatter. “I’m going to change out of these,” he said, leaving his tumbler on the coffee table. He returned to the living room minutes later in a pair of just-above-the-knee basketball shorts and a Harvard tee shirt. 

Carisi reflexively drew in a breath, his heart racing.

“You okay?” Barba asked with a smirk. 

“One hundred percent,” Carisi said, raising his glass in Barba’s direction. And, despite his racing heart, that wasn’t a lie.

“Eat dinner first,” Barba said, almost a warning, and Carisi wondered if the smart, brass-egoed, ski-resort-hopping Harvard man next to him _knew_ , and felt the electricity between them too. Electricity, dispute the fact that the baby-giraffeish Fordham night school basement-office-at-40 man on his couch had thrown up on him an hour earlier. 

They ate, and caught up on the less consequential details of their lives, right there on the couch, leaning over the coffee table. When Carisi expressed surprise that Barba sometimes ate dinner in his living room, Barba laughed and said, “Please. You all assume a lot because of the suits. I’m a slob. A slob, especially with regards to food. Ask Rita Calhoun.”

When they finished eating, Barba looked directly at Carisi. Carisi hadn’t locked eyes with anybody in that particular way in years. 

Barba’s lips parted. After a split second, Carisi noticed that his own lips had parted too.”

“I never took you for —” Barba said, but he cut himself off, maybe realizing that there was no reasonable way to finish that sentence inoffensively. 

“The kinda guy who’d accidentally throw up on you?”

Barba nodded, and both men laughed.

Slowly, Barba leaned in and kissed Carisi’s lower lip, near the corner of his mouth, with both of his lips. “If I’d known,” he said, “I’d have had you stop testifying for me years ago.”

Carisi felt the pleasant sensation of stubble against his skin as Barba kissed a path down the side of his neck. 

“Thank you for forgiving my stupid nervous stomach today.” 

Barba started to unbutton Carisi’s dress shirt with one hand. “I’ll bet you have a pretty stomach,” he said, and this time, Carisi could feel his smirk. 

“It’s all yours,” Carisi teased.

“Mmm,” was all Barba said, helping Carisi off with his shirt and undershirt. He kissed Carisi’s chest and started to undo his belt, adding, “remind me to talk to you about suspenders. They go better with waistcoats.”

“You mean vests?” he said, running a hand through Barba’s hair and gently prodding Barba’s face up to his for another kiss. 

Barba smiled against Carisi’s lips. 

Carisi’s phone buzzed against the coffee table. 

“You have to get that?” Barba asked, his voice falling in disappointment. 

“Nah. Keep going.”

“Keep going, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you want me to do?”

 _BUZZ._ Out of this corner of his eye he saw the message from Gina. 

_They’re calling you tonight. They’ll be mad as hell if you’re not coming on Sunday. Fair warning, kiddo._

Carisi ignored the phone. “You make great arguments with that mouth,” he told Barba. 

_BUZZ._

Teresa: _Ma and Pop are real mad at you now. You better change your mind before they take it out on us._

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Carisi said. Then, to Barba: “Not you. You, I want to hear all the noises you make.”

“Mm, I like confident Sonny. Confident Sonny makes me so hard.”

Perfect, Carisi thought, beyond pissed off but also very turned on, he had Rafael-goddamn-Barba and Rafael-goddamn-Barba’s dick grinding against him on the couch while his phone buzzed with a thousand messages. 

“You sure you don’t have to take care of anything?” Barba asked, titling his head toward the coffee table.

“Well, yeah, I gotta take care of something, but it’s got nothing to do with that phone that I’m gonna flush down the toilet in about thirty seconds.”

Barba smiled, a full-toothed grin that delighted Carisi to his core. “C’mon,” he said, “answer your texts, then meet me in the bedroom.”

Barba shuffled off to the bedroom and Carisi picked up his phone. He sent a group text message to his sisters: _I’m not going. You shouldn’t either. Feel free to reread my arguments against having a big family dinner when you don’t know exactly where everybody’s been. Meanwhile, personal phone is now OFF for the weekend. ❤️_


End file.
